𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎. 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚈𝚘𝚞.

Year 1 -

Lily Lavigne's POV

When Harry handed me the letter to give to Lyla, I took it to her like the good messenger I am. Honestly, people are always confiding in me, meaning I know a lot of gossip. I watched Lyla's reaction expectantly as she read the letter. She frowned and tossed the parchment aside.

"What?!" I exclaimed, "He apologized! How can you not forgive him?!" I was being kind of hypocritical. I am the ultimate master of grudge holding. I shouldn't be telling people to forgive easier. 

"It's too soon. I'll forgive him eventually, but he needs to suffer for a little." Lyla smiled wickedly. I groaned. My new best friend was starting to sound way too much like me. I mean, I am amazing, but there can only be one of me. My muggle friends used to tell me I'm my own species, after all. I walked down to the Black Lake and found Harry with Ron.

"Sorry, Harry. She's not ready to forgive you yet." I said apologetically. Harry's shoulders sagged. Ron patted his arm.

"It's all right, mate. She'll come around." I knew she would eventually. But it would take a while.

Lyla Potter's POV

Today was flying day. It said so on a note posted to the bulletin board in the common room. And lucky me, Slytherins were learning with Gryffindors.

"Yay! We get to learn how to fly!" Lily said excitedly. I smiled.

"I've been flying since I was four," Draco smirked.

"Shove it, Malfoy," I said playfully, hitting his arm.

"You sound like your brother, Potter," Draco grinned. I snorted.

"Great. Just what I've always wanted." I said dryly. The three of us made our way down to the Quidditch pitch, where 20 or so brooms were waiting. The Gryffindors arrived shortly after, and I heard Ron telling Harry how his brothers were always complaining about the school brooms. A woman with short gray hair and yellow-y eyes arrived. Her name was Madame Hooch.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." I looked at my broom, which was old and fraying.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!" We all shouted. Some of the brooms quivered, and even a few of them rose, but most stayed firmly on the ground. Madam Hooch walked around, teaching us how to mount the broom without sliding off the end.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two --" Neville Longbottom, nervous of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was at least 20 feet up. Neville slid off the end, and landed on the grass pitch with a nasty crack.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch muttered "Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get." She turned to the rest of us.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear." Neville hobbled off with Madam Hooch. As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" He said.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" I smirked. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."